


Oh My My, Stop the Time

by stardustedknuckles



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, First Meeting, Flash Fic, Modern AU, crack adjacent, idk man it was a cute premise, the blind date that never was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustedknuckles/pseuds/stardustedknuckles
Summary: Beau's got a blind date tonight and some time to kill before then, so she's dicking around town on her skateboard like always. It's a day like any other until it goes suddenly and improbably sideways.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 17
Kudos: 218





	Oh My My, Stop the Time

**Author's Note:**

> I was hunting for prompt ideas and saw "we were supposed to be on blind dates with other people but we saw each other and presumed too quickly and got excited" and "I have to cancel our date tonight because I'm in the ER...I mean I guess you could come if you really want, but...alright then..." and my brain went "porque no los dos?" Anyway this isn't really edited, just straight down the page nonsense.

Beau's been skating since she was what, seven? Eight? Whatever age little tomboys still get indulged, before they're expected to be like, actual young ladies or whatever.

The point is, Beau's had a board under her feet whenever possible for more than a decade. Skating is as natural as breathing, almost more familiar than walking. And yeah she'd tell anyone else to wear a helmet, but for her it makes about as much sense as wearing one while running. She doesn't go on main roads - well, mostly - the sidewalks are wide, she's been at this for fucking ever.

So when she puts it together that the woman who's just stepped in her path is 1) not going to be able to move in time and 2) distractingly hot, like whoah, the only thing Beau really has any time to register is straight up mortification. She's better than this. She's got reflexes for _daaays_.

She also now has a face full of wood chips, a wrist that probably shouldn't feel like that, and no clear memory of the last second of motion and impact.

The woman, at least, does not seem at all hurt. Which makes sense, because she's absolutely jacked - Beau's fairly certain she's crashed into brick walls with more give than whatever she's got under that t-shirt. "Oh gods, are you alright?" Strong hands grasp at the back of her shoulders and flip her over with a strength that makes Beau dizzy.

Well something's making her dizzy anyway, could be the vaguely double vision. "Doin' great, how's you?" She hears the words come out of her, knows they're not quite right, but can't seem to get far enough along the thought process to rearrange them.

"Fuck," the woman says softly. Beau can't really make out her facial features all that well - everything's so bright, suddenly - but she's willing to bet this woman is as twice as hot as she remembers and just as hot as she sounds. "There's a bench nearby," she says, and this time Beau catches a light accent. "Let's get you off the sidewalk, okay?"

Yep, yep that's fine, Beau's legs still work. She can definitely stand on her own two feet. Walking is one of her skills, she's cert - the world tilts in a blur of sky and sidewalk.

Beau's nose stops six inches from the ground and she spends a long, slow moment blinking stupidly at the sparse grass before the strong arms that caught her pull her back up to a mostly standing position.

"Okay," the woman says in a decisive sort of way, and Beau must be worse off than she thought, because this chick has a purple eye. Like, the iris. It's a neat trick as concussions go, but it can't be a good sign. "I've got you," she says, and then before Beau can quite figure out how much she wants to protest she's lifted bridal style and carried over to the bench.

The whole thing's taken maybe thirty seconds at this point, and Beau just takes a minute to sit and hold her head once the woman puts her down. She touches her scalp gingerly, fingers probing for the goose egg she knows has to be there, and yep. There it is, ow fuck _ow_.

Beau hisses in pain just as her hand is tugged gently away from her head with a gentle admonishment of "Don't poke at it, it's bleeding a little."

Beau looks at her fingertips, rubs out the small streak of red between them uncomprehendingly. "Huh," she says, and grins. "S'hot though, right?"

The woman has her phone in a free hand, and she looks up from it to give Beau a look tinged with the kind of exasperation most people tended to get within a few sentences of conversation with her. "Red's not your color," she says, and the hand not holding the phone is still wrapped around Beau's wrist. As far as she's concerned, that's a net win.

It occurs to Beau suddenly that what most people do when they watch someone absolutely beef it on concrete and start bleeding is call an ambulance. It also occurs to her that insurance or no, that's going to suck. And she has plans tonight.

But the phone doesn't seem to be on a dial screen, so Beau squints to force things into enough focus that she can make out the familiar Uber user interface.

A gentle pressure on Beau's forearm, startling her to attention. "Do you have a preferred hospital?"

Beau blinks stupidly. "You don't have to do that," she says. Her words come out stronger this time, but something's gone wrong in the blood rationing area because she can feel that there's too much of it in her face even though it's still cold - and throbbing.

"I can call you an Uber to the ER, or I can carry you," she says simply.

Most of the giddiness and disorientation has withdrawn, and now there's only pain and a deep sense of embarrassment. And maybe just a moment where Beau considers pushing for being carried. Maybe. "Fine," she huffs. "Just get me to St. Sarenrae. But like -" the woman pauses and looks back to her face. Beau gathers any shred of charm she might have left and says all in a rush, "Let me at least buy you a drink later?"

She clearly hadn't expected that, and the bewildered "why?" that spills reflexively from her lips - oh is that a tattoo? Fucking sick - is terribly endearing. "Sorry," she says quickly. "That came out weird. But...if you feel like you owe me, don't. It's really fine." Her black-painted thumb pushes the button to send the request and Beau winces as a fresh throb of pain lances through her head.

"Sure," she manages. "But I did I plow you over with a skateboard, _and_ you're spending money to take my dumb ass to the ER, so I'm pretty sure that makes you an actual angel, and like. I'm a hot mess right now but rules are rules."

Those eyes are definitely mismatched, Beau decides. It's not her brain fucking up. They're also looking at her almost warily, but there's unmistakable, if cautious, amusement in her voice when she says, "You don't strike me as the type to pay attention to rules." She gestures. "Helmets, for instance."

Beau laughs at that, winces again. Worth it. "Don't mind following rules when I wrote 'em."

Silence stretches between them for a moment, and fuck Beau didn't actually expect this woman to take her seriously but she's looking kind of thoughtful. She looks down, realizes she's still holding Beau's wrist. Beau's a little disappointed when she lets go, but she doesn't do it in a mean way.

"I have plans tonight," she says, looking away.

"I do too," Beau says hurriedly. "I just meant. Like, in general?" She reaches for her phone, but her wrist twinges hard and she can't stop the grunt of pain that makes it from between her teeth. "Fuck, _shit_ ," she hisses.

"Let me see that."

Beau lets her arm be coaxed up gently by the elbow for examination. It's more than a little hot, being stared at this intensely - even if it is just her arm - and Beau grins. "I'm just saying, if you're also a doctor that's an automatic hell yes from me."

"Not a doctor." She doesn't look up. Gods, Beau likes her more and more every second. "I have just sprained a wrist or two in my time." She sets Beau's arm down gently, and there's that soft exasperation again. "Are you always like this?"

Horniness probably isn't the correct response to that question, but it's kind of Beau's default and her higher functions aren't exactly at full capacity to check her mouth. "Nope, I'm having an off day. I promise I'm much worse."

"Gods." There's a kind of ombre to her hair - Beau notices it for the first time when the woman ducks her head to hide the blush creeping along her cheeks. Beau wants so badly to say something about it, tease her relentlessly, but honestly she's a little undone by this whole situation. Her voice from under the black and white curtain of braids: "Driver's two blocks away." Her head lifts towards the spot where they had collided. "Wait here and I'll get your skateboard."

It's the dead of summer, but the air beside Beau when it's empty feels chillier somehow. Beau watches her pluck her skateboard from the bush it rolled under and thinks _she looks like she's handled one of those_ and _wonder how mad Jester would be if I canceled that date she set me up on tonight._

All traces of the blush have faded when the woman returns and holds her hand out for Beau to grab onto with her good one. The world takes a second to come back into focus, but she makes it to her feet with most of her dignity intact and squints at the car pulling close to the curb with its hazards on. "That us?"

"That's us."

They make their way over, and Beau hesitates at the door to the car. "If you need to go, you can," she says. "I'm no stranger to hauling my sorry ass to a hospital. They pretty much know me by name, it's really fine."

An unfairly muscled arm reaches past her to pull open the door.

The driver calls something that sounds like "My door in?" and she nods absently as she gestures to Beau. "Just get in," she says. "I still have a couple hours, and I am not turning you loose on the streets concussed. I get the feeling you would flirt with a mountain range on a good day, and I don't want to know what else you'd try on a bad one."

Beau folds herself onto the seat with a grunt and manages a grin. "Aw, it's like you know me."

The door slams behind them. "You might just be predictable."

She was already huge, but crammed next to Beau in the backset of this sedan, she looks like she comes with her own gravitational pull - and it's not one Beau feels particularly inclined to resist. "Nah," she says. "I'm one of a kind."

A sideways glance, contemplative. "I can believe that."

Beau's not sure what to say to that, and now that the car is moving the motion is making her head spin just a little. She closes her eyes, opens one when she hears a shift and feels inquisitive knuckles bump hers softly.

"Lean on me," she says, and Beau doesn't think to argue.

* * *

Beau takes one look at the clinic and knows she's going to have to cancel her date tonight.

She snags a clipboard from the desk and runs a quick eye over the staff behind the glass. Nobody she recognizes. When she turns back, her new acquaintance is looking around with more than a little unease. "Looks like everyone had the same idea today, huh."

There's a false chipper quality to her voice, and Beau's been around enough people with hospital phobias to spot one. "That's summer for you." She searches that face, makes herself say it again. "If you need to go, I'm fine." It's even mostly true. The lights have a kind of halo to them and the room is way too loud, but those aren't anything more than annoyances.

The unease fades and that fond exasperation bleeds through. "And here I thought you wanted me to stick around."

She turns and heads for two empty chairs and Beau nearly trips over herself to follow as she stammers, "I mean yeah, if that's an option?"

They settle into the chairs and Beau quickly realizes that being ambidextrous isn't quite as helpful as it might be when you still need one hand to hold a clipboard steady. The woman props Beau's skateboard between them, and she can feel those bi-colored eyes watching her. Beau's face burns - for no fucking reason, thank you - as she crosses her legs and balances the paperwork on her knee.

A soft exhale of amusement, and Beau spots a flash of green winding down the back of a pale hand as the woman fishes her phone out. Some kind of tattoo, like a vine. Beau suddenly wonders what _other_ tattoos are hiding under that light jacket, and she has to reel herself back from that train of thought. Down, girl. Maybe start with a name, do it right.

After the bureaucracy.

Beau sighs and gets to work on the form - easy questions she could do in her sleep, concussions be damned, and a moment later the woman sets her phone down with a sigh of her own and says, "Well, my evening is free now. If you still want to buy me that drink, I think I could use it after this."

Beau looks up, blinking furiously. "Uh. Yeah," she manages. "Yes. I do. Shit, I should text - thanks for reminding me." She'd had the forethought to switch her phone to her other pocket, and she slides it out to thumb it on. One new message, from "Jester's friend Yasha."

Beau frowns. That's fucking weird, Yasha's who she's about to cancel with. Maybe she won't have to, she thinks. Maybe Yasha has to bail and Beau can feel like less of an asshole for how much she would rather be in a hospital with this hot stranger than meeting whoever it is Jester's so certain she'll like.

Beau feels a little guilty - it's not like Jester has bad taste, Beau's just….naturally kind of contrary is all. She shakes off the thought and quickly opens the message.

"Hello, this is Yasha. Jester set us up to meet tonight. I'm sorry, but I had to take someone to the emergency room and it's going to be a while. I don't think I'll be able to make it."

Beau reads the message again, and then a third time for good measure. "Hey," she says without looking up.

"Yes?" Yasha - because it's her, somehow, Beau _literally_ knocked herself out on the person she was supposed to see tonight, what the _fuck_ \- takes in Beau's stiff posture and blank expression. There's concern radiating from her now, because obviously, she's friends with Jester - everything makes _so much sense_ now. "Is everything okay?"

Now Beau does look up, right into those faintly puzzled and frankly stunning eyes. "You believe in fate or anything?"

Yasha's mouth works. "I…it's complicated?"

"Sure," says Beau. "I didn't, for the record, but I'm reconsidering."

At Yasha's deepening confusion, Beau tilts the clipboard so she can see the name printed the top line of the intake form.

Beau sees her nonplussed expression echoed perfectly on unfamiliar features.

A beat passes.

Another.

"Oh," says Yasha.

Beau's smiling now, a little lightheaded in a way that probably has not a lot to do with a concussion and everything to do with the way Yasha's starting to smile too when she looks up. "Yeah," she says. "Oh."


End file.
